


The Forest of Emrys

by nxrcissa



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Angst, Arthur is an ignoramus, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Developing Friendships, Druids, Everyone Loves Merlin (Merlin), Gen, Good Mordred (Merlin), He's a forest guardian, Original Character(s), POV Mordred, Shapeshifting, ok sorry i kinda lied about pov mordred i jsut switch a lot, spirit merlin, third person limited ofc i spit on first person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:34:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27003619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nxrcissa/pseuds/nxrcissa
Summary: Mordred had heard legends about the Forest of Emrys ever since he was a child. Every druid knew about the powerful spirit who dwelled in the wood, the very essence of magic running through every root, seeing through every eye. It was said that the spirit was kind, and one need only ask to be granted sanctuary in the bounds of the forest.So when they ran into a forest, fleeing as Cenred’s army drew nigh, Mordred could scarcely believe it. This had to be destiny.--Forced to hide from their enemies in a mysterious wood, the Knights of the Round Table grapple with the nature of magic under the careful watch of the Spirit of Emrys. And where did this Merlin guy come from?
Relationships: Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Mordred (Merlin)
Comments: 74
Kudos: 396





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Thistle and weeds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15996755) by [dragoonsbeard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragoonsbeard/pseuds/dragoonsbeard). 



> Recently read Thistle and Weeds and was very inspired by the idea of Merlin as a forest spirit guardian. Thank you dragoonsbeard!

Mordred had heard legends about the Forest of Emrys ever since he was a child. Every druid knew about the powerful spirit who dwelled in the wood, the very essence of magic running through every root, seeing through every eye. It was said that the spirit was kind, and one need only ask to be granted sanctuary in the bounds of the forest. The spirit was known to be fond of guests. Mordred met weary travellers who claimed the spirit guided them to beds of soft moss, where they would wake to ripe bushes of berries and trees dripping in nuts. 

The elders warned to only ask for sanctuary with a pure heart, or you’d find yourself nothing more than a meal for the spirit’s creatures. Mordred always wanted to visit the Forest of Emrys and bask in the seat of the world’s purest magic, wanted to see if the spirit deemed him worthy of sanctuary, or even a rare blessing. But nobody knew where it was.

It seemed impossible - by all accounts, the forest was immense. But anyone who sought the forest never found it, and those who’d visited and tried to make their way back could never remember the way. It was ancient, potent magic, designed to keep the forest safe. Nobody knew what would happen if the forest were to be damaged or destroyed. Many druids believed that magic would leech from the world entirely, and that was why the whispers of the legend never left their camps. They guarded the knowledge fiercely and devotedly for generations. The Forest of Emrys was their greatest known legend and their greatest kept secret. 

So when they ran into a forest, fleeing as Cenred’s army drew nigh, Mordred could scarcely believe it. 

From the first step he took into the wood, he could feel energy running in every direction like veins. The birdsong was striking as the weight of a spell, the trees waved as he passed. Every colour was more vivid and more beautiful than he’d ever seen. The very ground hummed under his feet with magic. It was so strong he could smell it, taste it. It tingled within him every time he took a breath. 

This had to be destiny. The spirit of Emrys was extremely selective with those it allowed to find it - there was no way they’d stumbled in by mistake. All they had to do was ask for sanctuary with pure intentions, and the army on their heels could not follow them.

Mordred knew he had to ask quickly. The spirit might not take kindly to them trampling through its woods, waving swords around and disrespecting its sovereignty. He fell to his knees like he’d been aching to do since setting foot in the forest and dug his fingers into the earth.  _ Gods. _ Even the dirt was positively singing with power.

“Spirit of Emrys,” he intoned loudly, “We are honoured to be in your wood. We humbly ask you grant us sanctuary from the dangers on our heels.”

A gust of wind swept through, and suddenly Mordred could hear a voice in his mind. 

_ Mordred,  _ the spirit greeted telepathically. Mordred laughed out loud, the delight and exhilaration almost overwhelming. The other knights must have thought he was mad, but he wasn’t paying attention to anything but the surge of warm, gentle magic swirling around him.

The spirit’s voice sounded more like a friendly young man than an ancient spirit. It sounded like it was smiling, if it could do such a thing. 

_ I am glad to grant you sanctuary, druid, though you have parted from your people. _

_ I am honoured, _ he responded earnestly,  _ and my companions? _

_ You ask me to grant sanctuary to the butchers of my kind? You willingly stand at the side of Pendragon’s son? _

The spirit sounded genuinely curious to hear his answer. Mordred lowered his head respectfully.

_ I believe Arthur is a good man. When he is king, I have faith that things will change. He’s misguided, poisoned against magic by his father. I hoped that perhaps you might change his mind.  _

It hummed thoughtfully, the sound seeming to vibrate through the tips of Mordred’s fingers. He held his breath.

_ I offer your companions safety for two sunsets.  _


	2. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mordred just wants to share his excitement with his friends, but they won't even try to understand him. He grapples with a torrent of emotions as tensions run high and Cenred's men wait nearby.

The first thing Arthur did when Mordred was finished explaining was rub his temples. 

Mordred was practically dancing on his toes, waiting for their reactions. He'd just shared a huge secret with them! Well, the spirit had revealed itself first, really, but still! It was an exciting moment. He wondered if any of them would be up for exploring the forest together. Mordred wanted to know if anyone else was there with them. He wanted the spirit to speak with Arthur, to see that he wasn't his father. He wanted Arthur to see the beauty in magic. Maybe this could be the turning point, the crossroads where Arthur would decide to take a different path. Destiny would not have led them to Emrys for nothing.

“Let me get this straight,” Arthur said, “We ran from an enemy army into the secret magic forest of an invisible creature? Great. One danger for another.”

Mordred's heart sank.

"I don't like being at the mercy of magic...Perhaps we could think of another plan," Leon suggested apprehensively. 

He'd been stupid to hope that his friends would see this as the blessing it was. It was just...he was so excited. He wanted to share that with someone. But looking around at the others, he saw that they all looked a bit wary, save for Gwaine, who was perpetually insouciant. 

“I’ve never heard any legends about a Forest of Emrys,” Elyan said dubiously.

“You wouldn’t have. The druids guard the secret of its existence with our lives,” Mordred informed him.

“But you just told us,” Percival pointed out. It had seemed so exciting that he had, too, just moments ago. He was so naïve...

“Yes.”

Elyan stared, then threw his hands up in defeat and turned away.

“We should leave,” Arthur said after a moment, “Magic can’t be trusted, and Cenred’s men are still behind us.”

Mordred felt irritation bubble up in his chest. The _ spirit of Emrys _ had offered them safety, and Arthur wanted to leave? He'd rather be chased to death by an enemy army than spend a night in a beautiful forest? There were people who spent their whole lives dreaming of being in the exact position they were in. 

"Yes, this place makes me uneasy," Elyan said. 

Every comment they made felt like a sculptor with a pick, chipping away at Mordred's hope and elation.

“Where would we go?” Lancelot asked doubtfully, “This forest is the only cover from Cenred’s men as far as the eye can see. We are too few to defeat an army, and we have no horses to outrun them.”

“If we leave, we will not be able to enter the forest again,” Mordred warned, “Nobody has ever been able to find it twice. We would be stuck out in the open, moving on foot.”

“Can I meet this all powerful tree spirit?” Gwaine enthused, “I bet it’s a real looker.”

Percival rolled his eyes, but Gwaine’s typical humour was comforting to Mordred. At least one of them was interested in the spirit itself, even if he was only joking.

"This is no laughing matter, Gwaine," Arthur reprimanded, "We're in danger."

“We’re not in danger. They say-”

Suddenly, they heard a crash in the direction they had last seen Cenred’s men. They all straightened, Elyan and Leon nearest to the sound shooting to their feet, hands on their swords. Mordred felt no alarm. Nothing would harm them here. 

They heard the sound of men’s voices shouting, but they were too distant for them to make out the words. Curious, Mordred rose to investigate. He swayed on the spot, and Gwaine frowned.

"Have you had wine?" he whispered. Mordred shook his head, confused by the sudden question, and headed towards the sound. Perhaps he’d learn something valuable.

“Mordred!” Arthur hissed. Feeling emboldened by the power of the forest, Mordred ignored him. He deserved it for being so ungrateful.

Cursing, Arthur gave the signal for the rest of them to follow him. As they neared the edge of the forest, a unit of Cenred’s army came into view. They were a good distance away and had evidently stopped to take a break, with quite a few men on the ground with their water skins. Mordred made sure to stop before the treeline, not bothering to crouch or hide when he knew Emrys would protect him.

“Bloody idiot!” Arthur muttered angrily, pulling Mordred to stand behind a tree. Mordred sighed.

“They won’t see us. And even if they did, they can’t hurt us.”

“Magic is treacherous!” Arthur said, “You cannot be so trusting of it. You’ll get us all killed!”

“Magic is the only reason we have not been killed already,” Mordred shot back with a little more vitriol than he'd meant to. Arthur looked at him like he’d slapped him. He felt a little surprised with himself too, but he didn’t regret it. In truth, he was tired of Arthur treating Emrys so disdainfully even as it sheltered them. He was tired of being the only one to recognise the majesty of the forest. It was dampening his spirits to be in a sacred place with nobody to share his wonder with.

When Arthur opened his mouth to respond, Leon shushed him, somehow still managing to be respectful. (Mordred lived in awe of Leon’s boundless ability not to offend.)

They all went deadly silent when the reason for Leon’s shushing became apparent. Two of Cenred’s men had seemingly decided to go for a leisurely stroll, and they were heading right for them.

“-thought Camelot outlawed magic?” one of them was asking, confused. The other shook his head in agreement.

“They did. Purged it, in fact. It’s impossible Uther Pendragon’s son even thought about using magic.”

“Then how did they escape? They just vanished into thin air.”

“I don’t know, maybe there are secret tunnels under the ground.”

“It was magic,” the first man insisted, “What I don’t understand is why anyone with magic would help a Pendragon.”

The second man hummed in agreement, and the darkest, guiltiest part of Mordred twisted inside. 

“Just look at your sister. All she does is ease the pain of childbirth, and in Camelot she’d be executed for it.”

It was the greatest inner conflict Mordred knew - Arthur had a good heart, but what he did to Mordred’s kind was the farthest thing from good. If he were to reveal his magic, would his friends kill him? Would he burn? The euphoria that had overtaken him since setting foot in the forest completely vanished. Of course his friends didn’t appreciate the majesty of the forest. He was the fool helping his executor bring him to the pyre. 

“They’re barbarians, and the king is mad. I pity all that live in Camelot.”

Leon bristled at the venom in the man’s voice, while the others exchanged dark looks. The two men stopped not a foot from the tree line. Mordred noticed that Elyan was holding his breath. 

“Me too.”

“We’ll be sent to the border if we don’t find a trail soon, I’d wager. Sir Pelham won’t want us chasing our own tails. ”

“Pity. I’d love to find those bastards. I’d muck Pelham’s stables for the rest of my life if he’d let me gut ‘em.”

Then, when the others were tensing like their discovery was imminent, the two soldiers turned and began to walk back to their group. Elyan let out a long, quiet breath. 

"Hey, look! A footprint!"

The knights all tensed as the soldiers stopped to crouch at a patch of dirt nearby.

"Are you sure it isn't yours?"

"I know what my own footprints look like, you twit. This has to be the knights of Camelot."

"By the gods. You found their trail."

Simultaneously, they looked right in their direction.

“We should go in that direction.”

“Let’s tell Pelham, first. Could be magic, remember?”

_ Crack! _

Tense, the others all whipped their heads around at the sound of a twig snapping nearby. Mordred followed their gaze, and couldn't help but chuckle at what had alarmed them so. 

On the ground behind them was a little falcon, tilting its head curiously. It hopped around a bit, making noisy rustling sounds in the fallen leaves, then chirped. Then it seemed to focus on the two soldiers, hopping towards them with purpose. When it hopped past the treeline, one of the soldiers saw it, frowning in confusion.

“Where did that bird come from?”

The falcon took to the air, flapping its wings at them. Then, a curious thing happened. A strong wind enveloped the two soldiers, sparkling like water in the sunlight. They looked as if they were in a trance. When the wind dissipated, they opened their eyes and looked at each other uncomprehendingly.

“Let’s go back,” one of them said. The other nodded.

“Yes, I don’t like it over here. There’s nothing of interest. Nothing around.”

“Nothing around.”

This time, when they turned around, the two soldiers didn’t falter as they returned to their comrades. The knights of Camelot watched in stunned silence.

“Woah…” Gwaine whispered, “I had no idea magic could do that…” 

Mordred hummed in agreement, feeling his admiration of Emrys grow. How had that worked, with the falcon? Were all creatures in the forest imbued with magic?  _ Could _ one imbue a regular animal with magic? Or was the spirit in the vessel of the falcon? Could he learn to do that? Would the spirit teach him, if he asked?

It was a clear message, in his eyes. The spirit really was protecting them, watching over them and using its powers to keep them safe. It would honour its promise, despite Arthur’s mistrust and disrespect.

“Magic! Keeping us alive,” Mordred said pointedly. Arthur glared, hackles rising. Out of the corner of his eye, Mordred saw Gwaine staring pensively after the two soldiers whose conversation they’d heard. 

“We were almost discovered!”

“But don’t you see?” Mordred shook his head vehemently, “Emrys proved to us that we are protected. That we were protected that whole time.”

“Your precious Emrys was toying with us,” Arthur snapped, “Making us think we were going to be caught for its own sick amusement. Showing us how dangerous it is. And you nearly delivered us all right into the hands of Cenred’s men!”

“I understand your position, sire,” Lancelot interrupted suddenly, “but we  _ are _ currently under the protection of a sentient magical spirit, whatever its motives. It might be in our best interest not to offend it.”

Arthur scowled and said nothing, not taking his hard gaze off of Mordred. The significance of the situation seemed much greater, suddenly.

Even faced with the benevolence of quite possibly the most powerful magic force in the land, Arthur refused to see the truth. Emrys had ample power and motive to harm Arthur. The prince had to know this. And yet, Arthur could not be civil or respectful, even for just two sunsets, even for the sake of self-preservation, even for the safety of his men.

Late in the night, when he was alone with his thoughts, Mordred would often think about running away. Sometimes, he imagined running to find the Forest of Emrys. Perhaps this was a sign. If Mordred could no longer believe that Arthur could be convinced, why should he stay? 

What if he didn’t return to Camelot?

It was times like these when Mordred felt so very alone. Regardless of what he did, he would be off balance, adrift. Alone and free, or in shackles with friends. He glanced at the other men, looking for a reason to believe. Elyan and Leon were frowning at him, and Percival was looking away. Lancelot and Gwaine looked sympathetic, but said nothing. They always said nothing.  _ Mordred _ had been saying nothing. Saying nothing and taking coin from Camelot as his kin burned at the hands of his silence.

Mordred took a breath, and made a decision. 

“Your fear blinds you and your hatred makes you deaf,” he said quietly, bitingly. Leon inhaled sharply, and Arthur clenched his jaw to bite down on his temper. 

“Mordred,” Elyan said reproachfully. Mordred didn’t acknowledge any of their reactions. He simply turned back towards Cenred’s men.

“Come get me! I’m over here!” Mordred bellowed at the enemy army. Elyan clapped his hand over Mordred’s mouth a second too late, but it didn’t matter. Not a single man even glanced in their direction. Mordred turned around and sneered at the horrified faces of his fellow knights, all clearly believing that Cenred’s men would hear him even after Emrys’ display.

“You are out of line, Mordred,” Arthur growled, “This  _ Emrys _ is clearly biding its time for its own nefarious scheme. The whole forest is corrupted by evil.”

Mordred’s mouth twisted into an ugly expression. Arthur Pendragon of Camelot was now dictating which places were corrupted by evil? 

“This place has obviously cast some enchantment on Mordred’s mind,” the prince said to the others, “We must find the source and destroy it. Who knows what other magic is at work...We are no safer here than we were out there.”

_ Destroy it. _

Mordred’s nightmares sprung to life. Images flooded his mind of Arthur setting fire to the forest, of a world drained of magic. It would all be Mordred’s fault. He had asked the spirit to allow them to stay. 

But, no. The spirit of Emrys was far more powerful than the knights of Camelot. Emrys would be protected. Arthur could not burn this forest down if he tried. _ If he tried _ . Because he would. Mordred felt sick, and the dark, guilty part of his heart grew a little larger. He was a sorcerer and a druid, gallivanting around wearing the colours of- what had the spirit called them?  _ Butchers _ . He should walk out into the clearing and let the soldiers gut him. 

“If you are no safer here than you were out there, then go,” he said coldly. 

“Mordred-” Gwaine started, placating, but Arthur interrupted him.

“The spirit is lying to you. You’re being fooled.”

“I  _ was _ fooled,” Mordred muttered to himself under his breath, turning on his heel.  _ I was fooled into thinking you could become a better man _ . 

All of a sudden, he was exhausted. He didn’t wait to hear whatever else Arthur wanted to say. Perhaps he'd return later, once his rage had abated - he truly did care for each of his friends - but Mordred couldn't stomach being around them a moment longer. H e picked a direction at random. 

H e walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know, man, this one really ran away from me. Originally, this chapter was just gonna be boys sitting around the campfire discussing magic, but they wouldn't talk, and Mordred wanted some alone time. But don't worry, everything will be ok.


	3. Tri Llwybr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The paths are chosen.   
> Mordred drifts further from Arthur, in body and spirit. The knights struggle to stay united.  
> Emrys looms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi! Thank you all so much for the support on this story, I really really appreciate it <3 Your comments have motivated me to neglect studying for my exams to write this lmao  
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> -long note at the bottom because im a compulsive over-explainer-

Emrys took care of Mordred as he stormed through the woods aimlessly. Tree roots sunk a little deeper into the earth so as not to trip him, bushes curled their thorns away from his delicate flesh, and paths miraculously parted in the undergrowth to steer him away from precarious ledges. The spirit of Emrys was aware of Mordred in its veins as it was aware of everything. While Mordred found his way to the falls, a hummingbird’s eggs were hatching on the other side of the forest. The pack of white wolves Emrys had sheltered from hunters were examining the knights’ abandoned camp, nosing through their provisions. Emrys hummed with amusement, and a field of clover bloomed. 

Emrys, like any force of the earth, did not have a rationale for its laws, nor was it bound by them. It simply did as it did for millenia, changing only to flatter Destiny and court Balance. Emrys was the ebb and flow of magic. It concerned itself with human matters only insofar as reclaiming its own matter. As the ocean rises into the clouds, so the rains fall into the rivers and return to the ocean. Mordred’s little prince himself was born of magic - they all were, one way or another, and they forgot, with their clocks and candle marks and calendars. 

Balance prevails, always. Magic flows from Emrys, magic must return to Emrys. 

Balance is, by definition, a give and take. A comet struck the earth and froze it, but life returned warm-blooded. The dragons were slaughtered, and their arcane magic returned to Emrys, but the forest became hostile and violent. The High Priestesses were burned, and Emrys grew stronger still, but their unrestful magic poisoned the waters. Emrys, who had only ever known the language of the Land, learned to speak like a druid, then like a man. Emrys wore the vessels of animals and learned the names of inconsequential human kings. Emrys was filled with the most power it had in centuries; Emrys was more vulnerable than it had been in centuries. To be infused with the trivialities of mortality is to be fallible. Balance had returned twisted, unrestful magic to Emrys, and Destiny had preserved in it the bitterness of the mages and the austerity of the dragons and the terror of the druids. And there, then, in the bark of the old yew where a dragon’s soul grew,  _ impatience  _ . For the first time, Emrys felt  _ time. _

Even as the knights picked their way back to their camp, families of druids that had fled Camelot at the tip of their swords relaxed in a nearby river. Down by the waterfall, Mordred was lying down in the soft moss, slow with exhaustion. In the swaying stalks of sugarcane, the Priestesses whispered sweetly. 

_ Where is the Balance? Balance has Given our power so Emrys may Take. _

_ Yes,  _ a dragon in the soot of a campfire,  _ Only Kilgharrah remains. Take.  _

A young druid girl, her weak magic driving the flutter of a rabbit’s heart.

_ Take. To Give you must Take. _

Emrys made a decision. Well, it made a decision in the manner age-old spirits made decisions, which is to say, it didn’t make one at all. A decision to Emrys was not walking down a path, but creating the crossroads.

\---

When Mordred woke from his impromptu nap, he groaned at the light hitting his eyes through the canopy. His head was throbbing something fierce, and he was parched. He slowly drew himself up, looking around with squinted eyes. 

It was a beautiful clearing, lush with green grass and delicate wildflowers. And not too far away, a stream bubbled along happily, the water clear and glittering in the fading sunlight. A little further up, Mordred saw a little waterfall...how had he gotten here?

All of a sudden, the memories rushed back. Cenred’s men, his outburst. Storming away from the others. He remembered them through a strange fog, much like he felt when he drank too much ale, but he hadn’t had anything to drink. Had Emrys actually enchanted him?

_ We must find the source and destroy it. _

Arthur’s words echoed in Mordred’s mind, and he felt the same concoction of anger and disappointment and shame. Not an enchantment, then. Why did he feel like he’d spent the night out at the tavern?

Well, nevermind. Mordred had bigger things to worry about. Like what he was going to do about Arthur and the others. Mordred felt like his soul was tearing in half. He had liked, even admired Arthur. But that was because he’d allowed himself to become swept up in Camelot and blinded himself to the atrocities he benefited from. Were they really his friends if they would burn him at the stake? Could they ever change? 

_ We must find the source and destroy it.  _

A burst of panic exploded in his chest. He’d left them alone. They were out in the Forest of Emrys somewhere, looking for something to destroy! The forest was filled with magic - what if they actually managed to kill something? What if his naivete led to the destruction of Emrys?

“Oh gods...Emrys…” he groaned, dropping his head in his hands. He’d led them right into a veritable font of magic, to a benevolent spirit who had promised to protect them. What if Emrys would not defend itself? 

_ Mordred  _ , Emrys responded. Startled, Mordred shot upright, his heart pounding. 

“I’m sorry…” he sighed deeply, “I’m sorry for bringing them here.”

_ What am I to do with your apology? _

Mordred stiffened. 

“Is it unforgivable? I…”

_ There is nothing to forgive  _ , Emrys said,  _ but there is still much to be done. _

“I...What would you have me do?” Mordred asked.

_ I give no orders, Mordred. You chose this task for yourself.  _

“I don’t understand.”

_ Why is Pendragonson here? Why do I protect he who is determined to destroy me? _

Mordred made a frustrated noise. 

_ You know the answer, Mordred. I will help you, but it is not I who has the ear of the prince.  _

_ Why  _ protect him? Why  _ not  _ let Arthur die? The rage burning in Mordred simmered into a sour resentment. More than resentment for Arthur, Mordred felt resentment for himself. He could not be Arthur’s friend anymore, it would be unbearable for his own peace of mind. 

But what was Mordred’s peace of mind for hundreds of lives that could be saved if Arthur was swayed?

Something clicked in his mind, and Mordred felt certain he knew what the spirit meant. Arthur had shown nothing but suspicion and hostility towards Emrys, but Mordred was one of his knights. Mordred had foolishly hoped that Arthur would come to see the beauty of pure, benevolent magic on his own, or that Emrys could change his mind. It all came from a place of denial, he realised - if he shifted responsibility onto Emrys, he could no longer be blamed for standing aside and doing nothing while his kin were hunted. But his complicity was now clear in his mind - he had to act.

Letting Arthur die was, of course, an option. If Mordred failed to restore his faith that Arthur would one day change Camelot for the better, he would wipe out the Pendragon line. With his heir gone, Uther’s reign would be weakened. A sudden, utopic vision of Camelot under Morgana’s rule flashed through Mordred’s mind, but he cleared his mind of it. The nobility would never allow Morgana to take the throne, and he had no army to compel them. No, Arthur was still the best option as of now. 

But what was he to do? If he approached this wrong, he’d lose Arthur’s ear and his trust and it would all amount to nothing anyway. In that case, Mordred was a traitor to his people and a failure both. He could stay in Emrys, but then what of his kin dying outside? Were they all to simply concede the land to Pendragon and hide in other kingdoms and in magical forests? Concede a land that had ancient magic fossilised in its very foundation? 

Mordred slowly made his way over to the stream. The water was clean and cold, and felt heavenly as he drank. Right now, Arthur thought Mordred was enchanted or cursed by something in the forest. If he went back to camp and tried to convince them, they wouldn’t believe a word he said. 

Feeling lost in more ways than one, Mordred looked around for some sort of clue, some sort of sign. He looked in the direction he’d come, and vaguely remembered that he’d walked a thin dirt trail, but he couldn’t find it. He walked around the treeline, but no path called to him. Finally, he returned to the stream. A fish swam up and kissed the water’s surface, swimming down and away with the current. 

Well, Mordred needed more time to come up with some sort of plan, anyway. Might as well explore the most magical place in all the lands while he was at it. Feeling a pull, Mordred took off his boots and socks, rolled up his trousers and waded into the water. The press of the current parted around his ankles, gently inviting him to follow. 

Was this pull downstream his own impulse, or a guiding hand of Emrys? What did Emrys mean, when it said it would help him? Was this part of the plan? 

“What do I do?” he asked the sky. Emrys didn’t respond. 

Mordred sighed, took one last look around, and set off with the current. He strolled slowly downstream, the setting sun warmed his skin and cleared his mind. His anxieties receded with every step. The sounds of the forest gradually returned. Tentatively, while he was alone, Mordred allowed himself to enjoy the wonder of Emrys again. 

“Keep going, Anwen! Hold it!” 

Mordred startled. He searched for the source of the sound, but couldn’t see anything. Curious, he followed the sound of voices around the bend.

Standing on the banks in front of the stream was what looked like a druid family, practicing magic. Two small boys were sitting in the stream, playing and splashing each other. A round man with greying hair was demonstrating a stance for a young girl, whose eyes were shining gold. Before her, a rock about the size of her head hovered in the air. Mordred gasped in delight.

It had been so long since he’d seen open, joyful magic. Mordred felt a grin grow on his face. He started walking towards them again, raising his hand in a friendly wave.

“Hello!”

The girl dropped the rock, and it landed in the stream with a loud splash. They looked over in surprise. For a split second, the older man looked afraid. Mordred realised with a lurch that he was still in his Camelot colours. He bit down on the cresting shame and regret. Ready to apologise and back away, Mordred timidly looked back up at them, but to his astonishment, the fear was gone. They were all smiling. Mordred knew they must feel the same conviction that he did - Emrys would never allow them to come to harm. He felt vindicated, understood.  _ Take that, Arthur. _ The older man took a few steps toward him, beckoning warmly. His daughter, uninterested in the newcomer, returned to her magic practice.

“Welcome, brother!” he greeted in a deep voice, “Welcome to Emrys!” 

“Thank you,” he enthused, “My name is Mordred.” 

“I am Gethin, and these are my children. Anwen,” he gestured to the young girl, who was absorbed in perfecting her stance, “and Hefin and Hywel.” The little boys waved cheerfully. 

_ Father, look! _

Mordred and Gethin turned to see Anwen steadily holding the rock high in the air with her magic, stance strong and joy written on her face. Gethin clapped enthusiastically.

_ Wonderful!  _

_ She’s skilled for her age, you must be a good teacher, _ Mordred chimed in, unsure of how Gethin would react, but desperate to speak to someone in the way of his childhood. The other man whipped his head around in surprise, then smiled broadly, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

_ A knight of Camelot and a sorcerer? _

_ A druid. _

Gethin laughed delightedly, a booming sound.

_ Well met, Mordred! You have a taste for danger. Come, sit, tell us your story. _

Faced with the sight of a happy druid family, celebrating magic with pride and reverence, Mordred felt hopeful and safe. He followed Gethin over to the children and sat beside him. 

For what felt like hours, long, blissful hours, Gethin and Mordred spoke about everything from magic and Emrys to the children and the druid camp. He learned that there were a great many settlements in Emrys, composed of a mix of druids and sorcerers from throughout the lands, and the one Gethin and his family lived in was the smallest. Gethin told him of powerful sorcerers who lived nearby in cosy little wooden cottages, and how they made medicines and harvest potions for the druids in exchange for company and produce. He told him that many of the animals in the forest were friendly with people, as if they were domesticated. Mordred delighted over the knowledge that druid festivals were celebrated openly and exuberantly with all of the inhabitants of Emrys, even the ones who were not druids. With every word that Mordred heard about the forest from Gethin, his elation and excitement returned. He felt astonishingly comfortable with this man he’d only just met. It was refreshing. It was liberating.

_ You must come stay with us tonight! The others will love to meet you,  _ Gethin enthused when the sun began to set.

_ You are the first I have met here, _ Mordred admitted _ , I wasn’t sure if I would see anyone at all... _

Gethin seemed to understand that he was referring to his association with Camelot, because he nodded solemnly. He clapped Mordred on the shoulder.

_ There are many of our people here. You are with family, now. _

The words filled him with emotion, the multitude of feelings he’d had to tamp down during his time in Camelot.  _ Our People. Family _ . He didn’t deserve such comfort. 

_ You would accept me so easily?  _ Mordred asked shakily, unable to look Gethin in the eyes. 

_ Emrys has seen good in you _ , Gethin responded easily,  _ No man is shunned for the colours he wore outside. Not here. _

_ I betrayed our people...I didn’t just wear these colours, I wore them with pride. I stood by and watched people die, I abandoned The Old Religion… _

To Mordred’s horror, he felt tears welling up in his eyes. His armour was heavy on his shoulders, it had been buoyed by pride and ignorance, but now he felt the full weight of it. 

_ That may be, _ Gethin acknowledged,  _ But Emrys has given you a chance to atone, and he has brought you back to us. You will restore the balance in your soul, Mordred. Have faith! _

“Thank you,” Mordred choked aloud, unable to stop the tears from falling.

Then, looking up at the sky, he said again, “Thank you.”

\---

Meanwhile, the Knights of Camelot had returned to find that their camp had been ravaged.

“What happened here?” Elyan gasped, examining his destroyed pack sadly. Gwaine picked his way to the edge of the clearing, bending down to look at something in the dirt. Tracks, and distinctive ones. 

“Wolves.”

Arthur huffed and angrily kicked a stone off into the trees. The others startled at the outburst, Lancelot and Percival sharing a meaningful look. 

“Wonderful! Just what we needed! Magic wolves!”

The prince was seething. Everything that could possibly go wrong on this quest had gone wrong. Usually, Arthur was cool headed in a crisis, but Mordred’s ire struck deeper than anything Cenred’s men could say. Something about his words rang with truth, like he really believed them, like contempt had truly brewed in a man Arthur considered a friend. Mordred was enchanted, or cursed. There was no way he was sound of mind. Otherwise, the rest of his friends- No. He shook his head firmly. Mordred was ensorcelled - he had to be.

“Simmer down, princess,” Gwaine rolled his eyes. Arthur spun around to face him, eyes burning. The others winced in pre-emptive sympathy for the hiding Gwaine was sure to receive. Pointedly ignoring Arthur and his temper, Gwaine continued.

“I’m pretty certain normal wolves scavenge for food, too. Not discounting magic, of course, but I reckon magic wolves would do a little more than eat Leon’s jerky.”

“My jerky?” Leon blurted out, making for his pack before he caught himself. Gwaine snickered. Leon rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, but laughed along with him, causing the others to join in. 

“Alright,” Arthur growled, and the laughter instantly died down. The other knights watched their prince warily.

“Alright,” Arthur repeated. He took a few deep breaths and composed himself, “Let’s salvage what we can, find Mordred, break the enchantment and get out of here.”

All but Percival managed to contain their sighs of relief as the tension broke. They’d experienced Arthur’s volatility often and viscerally. 

“How will we find the source of the enchantment in a forest full of magic, sire?” Elyan asked. 

“We’ll find it. We have to.”

“Perhaps we can negotiate with Emrys, get it to release him,” Leon suggested.

“Or at least get some information out of it,” Arthur agreed, “Good thinking, Leon.”

“What do you believe the nature of the enchantment is?” Lancelot asked hesitantly, “None of us were affected, and it didn’t seem to do much to Mordred besides...”

“Make him boiling mad,” Percival supplied. 

Gwaine sighed.

“Did you ever stop to consider that perhaps Mordred isn’t enchanted at all?”

Arthur gaped. Elyan elbowed Gwaine in the side.

“Do you  _ want  _ him to throw things at us?!” he hissed. 

“Yes, it’s really quite rousing,” Gwaine snarked back. 

“I suggest you explain yourself, Gwaine,” Arthur said dangerously.

“Sire, Mordred’s a druid. He was raised in the ways of the Old-”

“But magic is-”

“Yes, evil and all that. I know that’s what you believe, but it isn’t illegal to disagree. Do you think Mordred is a sorcerer?”

“Of course not!”

“Then what has he done wrong besides hurt your feelings?”

“Gwaine!” Elyan yelped. Gwaine looked around to gauge the other men’s reactions. Lancelot looked pensive.

“I’ve never heard Mordred speak like that before,” Arthur insisted, “It isn’t in his nature.”

_ What do you know of Mordred’s nature?  _ Gwaine scoffed internally. 

“Well...I have no doubt Mordred knows it’s dangerous to disagree with the crown, sire,” Lancelot said slowly, turning the matter over in his mind, “Perhaps he’s felt this way all along.”

“Exactly,” Gwaine nodded, sounding just a bit too pleased. In a moment of clarity, Arthur turned discerning eyes on Gwaine, all the anger and outrage set aside. 

“That’s how you feel.”

The men fell into a tense silence. They all looked to Gwaine, who looked away.

“And if I do? Will you think me enchanted, too?”

Arthur looked stricken, the same expression he had on when Mordred had snapped at him. He stepped back, rubbing a hand over his face.

“You’ve done it now, Gwaine,” Elyan said under his breath. 

“Look, Arthur, I’ve seen the evil magic can do. But I’ve seen the good it can do, too,” Gwaine said softly, ignoring Elyan. Arthur looked back at him silently. Uncharacteristically earnest, Gwaine pursed his lips and tried to gather his thoughts. 

“Magic can save lives...I’ve seen it make crops grow, banish childrens’ nightmares. It can’t all be bad...”

“Magic corrupts the soul, even a good one.”

“But Gaius-”

“No, Gwaine!” Arthur snarled. Gwaine clenched his jaw and turned away, shaking his head in disappointment. 

A bird chirped up in the canopy, the only sound in the clearing. Uncomfortable with both the tense conversation and his own moral conflict, Percival turned away, looking for the cheerful creature up in the trees. He spotted its shape on a nearby branch. It looked like a falcon, much like the magical one from before. Strangely, it seemed to be looking right back at him.

Eventually, the knights began to follow Arthur’s plan wordlessly. They gathered up their things, salvaging what they could in silence, each contemplating the events of the day. Leon was wracking his memory for any hints that would release Mordred from his enchantment, diligently avoiding any troubling thoughts about Gaius and magic. Elyan and Percival took stock of the food and water that was left, giving Arthur a wide berth. The prince rifled through his things absently. He didn’t seem to be doing much more than moving them around. Lancelot moved over to help Gwaine.

“You grew up around magic?” he asked casually. The campsite was so quiet that the others could hear every word, despite Lancelot’s soft-spoken nature. 

“Well, you know what it’s like. You meet all sorts when you travel.” 

Lancelot hummed in agreement.

“And it’s legal in Caerlon, isn’t it?”

Gwaine just nodded in reply, unwilling to elaborate. They all knew Gwaine hated talking about his noble upbringing in Caerlon, especially since he’d been backed into revealing it by King Uther ordering his execution. Sometimes, Lancelot watched Gwaine in Camelot and thought he might regret saving Arthur and getting roped back into this life. 

“Strange,” Lancelot mused, “Seeing one thing all your life and being told to believe another.”

“Alright, Lance, I know,” Gwaine said stiffly, “You don’t have to play peacekeeper. Hating magic is all they’ve ever known. Mordred believed this place to be heaven his entire life. I get it, those things don’t just go away."

“No, I suppose they don’t.”

"I don't know why I expected anything else from him. He is his father's son, after all."

Across the way, Arthur balled his hands up into fists and clenched his jaw tightly. Leon glanced between them, holding his breath, reading to intervene. After a moment, Arthur stood and walked a little ways off into the trees, just far enough away to be out of earshot. Lancelot, who usually alternated with Leon to calm Arthur down, was more fascinated by the hidden depths that had apparently been lurking under Gwaine's blasé attitude. Let Leon handle the prince this time. When he was sure the others weren’t paying attention, he leaned in close to the other man with a whisper.

“Do you have many friends who are sorcerers?” he asked, genuinely curious. He wouldn't put it past Gwaine to smuggle sorcerers out of Camelot just to spite Uther. Gwaine paused in his work for a moment. 

“Friends? Not many,” he said finally, his gaze and mind travelling far away, “Just one.”

On that nearby branch, the little falcon tilted its head curiously, watching the knights with eyes that shone gold in the orange sunset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooo excited for the next update - the plot is going to pick up after this. With this chapter, I wanted to set up some future plot points and character work that I hope come together like a puzzle once we get going. I'm excited to see predictions for which details will be significant later.
> 
> In terms of trying to establish what the knights' dynamic looks like, I hope my imaginings make sense to you. It's less like the patchwork family Merlin helps Arthur put together - this iteration is bit more tense, bit more precarious. Somewhat of a dysfunctional group project. An Arthur without Merlin would struggle to inspire the same depth of loyalty and trust and admiration the Round Table is built on in the show - especially in Gwaine. 
> 
> I also tried to make the three fragments distinct to structurally mirror the divergence at the crossroads of last chapter in contrast with the single perspective from before - I hope that theme came across somewhat?
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and please leave any and all thoughts in the comments!


	4. Myrddin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Right. Hm. You can call me…”  
> The knight met the sorcerer’s eyes, which crinkled with amusement at some secret joke.  
> “Merlin.”  
> “Like the bird?” Gwaine asked lamely. Merlin’s secret smile grew into a wide grin.  
> “Exactly like the bird.”  
> Well, Gwaine thought, that explains absolutely nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally chapter 4 is here. Sorry for taking so long!   
> Thank you all so very for your kind comments and continued support <3 You keep me writing!

“Something isn’t right here,” Percival frowned. He stared hard at his arrow lying harmlessly on the ground. Arrows weren’t intended to be harmless, you see, and therein lies the problem.

When the knights had salvaged their camp as best they could and Leon had managed to talk Arthur into some sort of functional calm, Percival had pointed out that the sun was going to set shortly and they’d hurriedly split off into the woods to hunt. 

Percival was an excellent huntsman, by virtue of having to maintain his bulk and size during his travels. This troublesome arrow had flown steady and true from his bow, sure to hit its target, a doe standing stock still not far from them, watching them curiously. But then, defying all Percival’s skill and years of experience, the arrow took a nosedive right into the ground in front of the doe, who did not even flinch. And some such thing had happened with every attempt to hunt in Emrys. 

“You’ve lost your touch, my friend,” Gwaine teased, plucking the arrow from the ground to examine it. Percival groaned in frustration, and his stomach growled loudly in agreement, making Gwaine laugh.

“Cheer up, Percy. You can eat Elyan if you get desperate - I won’t tell Gwen.”

Hearing a rustling in the bush behind them, Percival swiftly nocked an arrow and let it loose in that general direction,wanting to see what would happen. Belatedly, he noticed that the creature that was digging through the leaves was a huge boar. His stomach churned in longing.

Just as Percival suspected though, the arrow didn’t get anywhere near the boar.

A swift shape swooped out of the shadows and snatched the arrow out of the air. Gwaine and Percival gaped. The shape slowed and settled on a branch at their eye level, and the men saw that it was a falcon, clutching the arrow in its claws.

“What does this mean? Emrys doesn’t want us to eat?” Percival complained. The falcon squawked, ruffling its feathers and looking quite miffed. It calmly took the arrow in one claw and banged it against the tree repeatedly, eventually breaking the tip off. The two men stared at it, bewildered. 

“Er...maybe it really hates arrows?” Gwaine suggested. The bird squawked again, somehow sounding like it was disagreeing with him. After another confused moment, it made a low, exasperated noise and swooped out of the tree, diving straight for Percival. The knight’s eyes widened in alarm, and he raised his arms to shield his face, but the falcon didn’t touch him. Instead, it yanked his bow out of his hands with unnatural strength and took off through the wood.

“My bow!” Percival cried, and raced after it. Gwaine, laughing, followed closely behind him. Flying just out of reach but slow enough to be in their view, the falcon made several disjointed noises, almost as if it was laughing. Percival shuddered at the uncanniness. 

“Percy, look!” Gwaine exclaimed, pointing enthusiastically, “River!”

Sure enough, they had chased the bird right out of the tree line. They both felt some relief at the sight of the crystal clear waters rushing down the stream, feeling their dry mouths most acutely. But Percival was still focused on the bird, who was slowing to a stop nearby. Hovering in the air, it made that strange jittering chirp again, seeming amused by Percival’s groan of frustration. Then, to his relief, it dropped his bow directly in a bush and flew away into the distance, cackling all the way.

“Fuck you, you bloody chicken!” Percival called after it. With a sigh, he bent to retrieve his bow from the bush. When his hand closed around it, he felt something wet in his palm. He frowned. Pulling his bow out of the leaves, he saw a deep purple liquid running down the wood.

Berries. 

Most likely to be poisonous of course, but something about the colour was familiar to Percival. He bent down to examine them. They were black, with a star shaped pattern on the face.  _ Is it…?  _ He examined a leaf and felt a hesitant string of hope unspool.

“Gods be damned,” he blurted out, “They’re edible. Gwaine!”

\---

Back at their camp, Leon and Elyan, incredibly, were gorging themselves on a different kind of edible berry. 

“You too, eh?” Gwaine exclaimed by way of greeting. Percival unloaded his cloths of berries alongside their friends’ and was pleased to see that they were a different kind - if they were to survive on  _ berries _ , they’d better have variety at least. 

“Couldn’t find anything to hunt,” Leon sighed. 

“The sooner we get out of here, the better,” Elyan was practically pouting. 

“Magic, eh?” Gwaine said with mock sympathy. Were berries really such a hardship? Elyan rolled his eyes.

“You’re loving every second of this, you bastard,” he grumbled. Gwaine cracked a smile.

“You’re telling me you aren’t the least bit curious? We’re in druid heaven! Once in a lifetime, lads. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He didn’t say anything, but Percival was starting to agree with Gwaine. He thought of the strange bird, uncommonly clever and impossibly strong, leading them to running water and food. Saving a common boar.  _ Laughing. _ Percival couldn’t hope to understand any of it, and it certainly made him uneasy, but he would surely never forget it. 

“It’s certainly unique,” Leon allowed, “But I’m with Elyan. This place sets me on edge.”

“So how did you find these, then?” Percival asked around a mouthful of berries, changing the subject before Elyan and Gwaine could get into it.

“It was the strangest thing,” Leon exclaimed, “There was this-”

A loud cry not far away interrupted him. All four heads snapped in the direction of the noise - Leon shooting to his feet. It sounded like a bird, but none of the men had ever heard its cry. They listened for a moment longer, dread slowly growing as they faintly made out the metallic clang of swords. A loud shout had them all running towards the action, a shout they recognised. Arthur’s voice. They were in trouble. 

The knights were frantic, shooting through the undergrowth like it wasn’t there. As they drew nearer to the commotion, they began to see more and more of what faced them. 

A great beast stood over Arthur and Lancelot, its terrible figure towering over them all. It had a sharp, bird-like face, but four legs, and it was reared up on its hindlegs threateningly. A shrill screech left its beak. Surveying the scene quickly, Gwaine spotted Lancelot sprawled on the ground unconscious. Arthur stood between his body and the creature, mouth set in a grim line. 

Rearing as it was, Arthur took the opportunity to swipe his sword across its exposed belly. Elyan let out a victorious noise. The blow was sure to be fatal.

But the knights watched in horror as the metal glanced across the creature’s feathers as if it was a blade of grass. Gwaine realised that Lancelot’s sword lay broken in two on the ground with not a speck of blood on it - his steel, broken on the breast of a beast.

The monster was more irritated with Arthur’s attempts than anything, and with a powerful swipe of its claws, the prince’s weapon went flying into the trees. The dull sound of it hitting the ground filled the knights with fear. It was too powerful. They couldn’t beat it. Its furious screech was their death knell.

The creature brought its claws down, sharp points headed right for the prince’s head. 

“Arthur!” Leon yelled. The knights moved to their prince as quickly as they could, but it wasn’t fast enough. Arthur gritted his teeth and raised his head to die with dignity. 

Later, the knights would replay the moment over and over in their minds. Time seemed to move in slow motion, or perhaps it  _ did _ move in slow motion. One never knew with magic. They made their last ditch efforts to save Arthur, Leon throwing his sword desperately at the feathered chest. It bounced harmlessly off of the creature’s body.

They heard a deep, growled word. None of them had spoken, but they didn’t register that until the clearing burst into light and a strong gust forced all of them to brace themselves. The monster reared back, shrieking. Arthur whipped around, wide eyed, searching for the source of his saving grace. 

It was a man, and his eyes were glowing gold. 

Arthur scrambled away from the beast, shielding his eyes from the golden light beaming out of the stranger’s hand. He was tall and pale, unassuming if not for his magic. Arm outstretched, he was concentrating, and the creature was clearly no match. His dark hair rustled in the wind, but otherwise he was still and calm, not even straining as he forced the massive thing away from them. He was obviously powerful, and just as obviously dangerous.

After a few more moments, the bird let out a defeated screech and took off. Even watching it fly away, the knights did not sigh in relief, too stunned by what they had witnessed. The man released his hold on the spell, letting his arm relax as his eyes faded into a steel blue. Shaking off his shock, Percival shot over to Lancelot’s prone body, checking for a pulse. He nodded, relieved, when Gwaine looked to him in question. 

“You saved us,” Elyan blurted out disbelievingly. The man turned to him, and the knights flinched with the image of his commanding power fresh in their minds. Beside him, Leon straightened, ready to defend his friend. 

Then, the sorcerer rolled his eyes. 

“Astute observation.”

“Sorcerer,” Arthur muttered. The stranger looked at him expectantly.

“You’re a sorcerer,” the prince repeated.

“Well,” the sorcerer said sarcastically, “You  _ are _ a clever lot. Sharp as a rock.”

“Excuse me,” Arthur said indignantly, startled out of his shock by offense, “Don’t you know who we are?” 

“Yes, I know exactly who you are,  _ Ar _ thur,” the man said mockingly, making a face at the crown prince of Camelot. 

“Great Goddess,” Gwaine breathed, “I’m in love.”

The sorcerer took a look around, evaluating all of them with a keen eye. Seemingly finding what he was looking for, he nodded to himself and turned on his heel, starting off into the woods. Gwaine snapped out of his stupor.

“Wait!” he called, “Who are you? Where are you from? What was that creature, and what did you do to it?”

He paused, then decided that if he was going to risk his neck by annoying a powerful sorcerer, he might as well go all the way.

“Do you know where we can find something to eat?”

Leon hid his face in his hands. 

The sorcerer faced the unruly knight, considering. His face was hard to read, but Gwaine didn’t think his expression was a smiting one. He nodded once more, then started walking off again. Gwaine sighed in disappointment, though he should have expected that response. It was foolish to think that a sorcerer would help them any more than he felt he had to - it was a miracle they’d happened upon one who deigned to save their lives.

When the mysterious man reached the edge of the clearing, he turned back, tapping his foot at Gwaine impatiently.

“Well? Aren’t you coming?”

Taken aback, the knights glanced at each other. Gwaine’s heart sped up. He tried his best to school his expression, but he was just buzzing with curiosity. He’d never seen such powerful magic before, and what a strange lad the sorcerer was! Well, he was the most exciting man Gwaine had met in ages - he dearly missed the colourful characters that filled his travelling days. Besides, if Mordred really  _ was _ under some enchantment, how were they to break it? They knew nothing about magic. This sorcerer seemed to be positively brimming with it. What other option did they have? Arthur would have said ‘anything other than following a strange sorcerer into the woods’, but Gwaine wasn’t about to wait for his approval. Following a weird magic being off into the woods had worked out pretty well last time. He snatched up his pack and ran off to catch up with the stranger, who was already disappearing into the trees.

The rest of the knights stood in silence for a moment. 

“ _ Gwaine _ ,” Elyan groaned in deep-seated, years old annoyance. The others felt that summed it up pretty nicely. 

“We can’t let him get murdered alone,” Leon half-joked.

“Can’t we?” Arthur muttered darkly. 

Gwaine, while nervous, was not in fact being murdered, though there was time yet for it. The sorcerer ambled through the undergrowth like there was nothing there at all. Curious, Gwaine followed his footsteps with his eyes. Strangely, he could not tell whether obstacles were moving themselves out of the man’s way, or if he was simply the most graceful person he’d ever seen. 

“I’m Gwaine. Thanks for saving us and all.”

“I said I would,” the sorcerer shrugged. That was cryptic, but Gwaine supposed powerful sorcerers were supposed to say things like that, so he didn’t think about it too much. Part of the mystique. He said nothing more, and Gwaine tried to be quiet so as not to irritate the strange man, but he was  _ Gwaine _ . There were so many questions he wanted to ask. The sorcerer took a sudden turn and strode more purposefully in his new direction.

“Where are we going?” Gwaine asked, quickening his pace to match. He figured that was a fair question. Right?

“A cottage,” the sorcerer said vaguely. 

“Oh, your home?”

To Gwaine’s bemusement, the man frowned as if it was a difficult question. 

“Yes...yes, I suppose it is.”

“Er, alright. Promise you’ll protect me if the bloke you stole the place from comes back?”

The stranger laughed, and Gwaine took that as a victory, even if he was a tiny bit nervous that he hadn’t agreed.

“So, you’re taking me home and I don’t even know your name.”

Not reacting to Gwaine’s suggestive teasing, the sorcerer tilted his head to the side, considering. 

“Right. Hm. You can call me…”

He paused in his quick stride, causing Gwaine to stumble to a sudden and awkward stop. The knight met the sorcerer’s eyes, which crinkled with amusement at some secret joke.

“Merlin.”

The sorcerer watched his face for a moment longer, the slightest smile curling on his lips. It almost felt like Merlin was waiting for Gwaine to get an inside joke, but he reached for understanding and found none.

“Like the bird?” he asked lamely, unable to come up with a suitable response. Merlin’s secret smile grew into a wide grin.

“Exactly like the bird.”

_ Well _ , Gwaine thought,  _ that explains absolutely nothing. _

Just as abruptly as he’d stopped, Merlin began to walk again, and Gwaine scrambled to keep up.

“So, you want something to eat?” Merlin asked cheerfully, “What do you like? Not berries, I take it.”

Gwaine started with surprise at that, wondering how Merlin knew about the berries. Had he been magically watching them all this time? Strangely, he didn’t find that as unsettling as perhaps he should. Maybe it was because he’d just saved their lives, but Gwaine had a good feeling about Merlin.

“How did you know about the berries?” 

“Everyone eats berries here, at first,” Merlin smiled, “If you don’t know these woods, they’re the most obvious source of food.”

“Oh,” Gwaine said, feeling a bit daft for overthinking it, “Well, I’d love a good steak, if you’ve got one.”

“Bit dense, you knights,” Merlin muttered, rolling his eyes, “We don’t eat meat here.”

“What? Why not?”

“What part of ‘sanctuary’ is unclear to you?” 

“Aren’t you a spitfire!” Gwaine exclaimed with delight at Merlin’s biting attitude.

Actually, now that Merlin had said that, it did seem rather obvious. The animals were protected here just as they were, and it would be no good for Emrys’ guests to go around killing each other. He frowned.

“But…”

“Why did the griffin attack you?” Merlin guessed, voice harder than before. Gwaine’s brows rose in surprise, but he nodded. The sorcerer cut a considering glance his way, and Gwaine tried his best to show that he was simply curious and open, not accusing or suspicious. Merlin inclined his head slightly. 

“Magical creatures are not mindless monsters, you know. They remember, and they feel. She and her three young were living in a forest not far from Camelot. The people were chopping it down. Every day, there was less in the wild for her to feed her chicks, but there were animals in the farms where the forest used to be.”

“She stole livestock,” Gwaine understood immediately what had happened, “and they tried to kill her.”

“She hurt people, too. Maybe she even killed some. They destroyed her home and drove her to desperation. There was no right or wrong, only survival. I’m only grateful that your people couldn’t kill her.”

“My people,” Gwaine mused quietly. Merlin looked at him curiously.

“Are they not?”

The knight hummed thoughtfully, “Well, I suppose they are now. I am sworn to Camelot, after all.”

“You are sworn to it? Not part of it?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know,” Gwaine shrugged, “I’ve never been much a part of anything.”

“What about your little band of knights?” Merlin asked, in a tone that suggested they were nothing more than a charming litter of puppies. Gwaine tried not to let it sting his manly pride. 

“They’re good men, all of them,” he answered, “but no, I don’t think I truly belong there, either.”

“Sir Gwaine,” Merlin said earnestly, “I hope you find the place you feel you belong.”

“Thanks,” Gwaine nodded, surprised by the sorcerer’s sincerity, and surprised that he believed it.

“So where are you from, then?” he asked Merlin after a beat.

“Here,” Merlin said simply, and Gwaine frowned in confusion. He looked up to ask another question and felt the words die away as he noticed that they were standing in front of a charming little cabin. As Gwaine had realised was his habit, Merlin strode away into his cottage without waiting, leaving the knight to scramble after him. 

The door was wide open, inviting, which told Gwaine everything he needed to know about the locals of these woods. The knight was, all of a sudden, aware of the clang of his armour and the brute weight of his sword. 

Merlin’s home was...strange in a way Gwaine could not quite put his finger on. It seemed cosy, but not exactly lived in. There were lots of things scattered about, but all of the books on the table were pristine - none had the look of a dog eared, well-loved volume. The jars along the kitchen counter were all perfectly full, like the contents had never been used, and strangest of all, the floor was covered in a thin sheet of dust, like nobody had set foot inside for a long while.

The mysterious sorcerer breezed in, lighting the hearth with a lazy wave of his hand. With another gesture, Merlin called a bucket of water to him from outside, the wooden pail whizzing through the air without spilling a drop. He poured it into a pot above the fire, and it was boiling in seconds with a single word. Gwaine watched in awe of Merlin’s easy power, watching intently as his eyes flashed from blue to gold, potatoes and chopping boards and onions flying about his head. The sorcerer whistled a happy tune as he worked. The whole thing was utterly captivating. Gwaine imagined the people of Camelot before the Purge, dangling toys in the air for babies to giggle and grab at, children inventing new ball games with their growing powers, tired mothers preparing supper with a few waves after long days of labour. He was starting to feel guilty for the part he’d played in helping Uther’s cause, and he couldn’t have that. Gwaine resolutely did not think about anything he did, as a rule, and he wasn’t about to start now. He put it out of his mind, deliberately trying to distract himself. Merlin was rather pretty, wasn’t he? 

“Gwaine!” someone called from outside. Merlin didn’t react, but Gwaine startled out of his thoughts, peering out the window. Leon was hovering outside the cottage, hand on his sword. 

“Come in!” he called, trying to imbue his voice with as much assurance and cheer as possible. Deliberately but warily, Leon stepped through the doorway, keeping his eyes on Merlin. 

“Gwaine, let’s go,” he said quietly, like he was trying to sneak past a sleeping bear. Gwaine wondered if Leon thought Merlin wasn’t listening. 

“But Merlin’s cooking,” Gwaine replied innocently. Leon glared at him. He breathed deeply in through the nose like he always did when he was about to scold one of them, but stopped dead in surprise. He breathed out and in again, this time sniffing the air. 

“...that smells…”

“Good, right?” Gwaine finished excitedly. Leon nodded, mouth watering, stomach grumbling already.

“Good,” he answered absently.

“You’re welcome to stay and have some,” Merlin said over his shoulder, stirring the pot slowly. Leon snapped out of his hunger a bit at the sound of the sorcerer’s voice, guard sliding back up. 

“Thank you,” he said stiffly. 

“How’s Lance?” Gwaine asked, suddenly remembering his friend lying limp on the ground. Leon grimaced. 

“Still unconscious. He’ll be alright, though.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was Gwaine. 

“Bring him here,” Merlin interjected, “I can heal him.”

“What do you ask in exchange?” Leon asked suspiciously. Merlin sighed.

“I don’t know, your company? This is Emrys; I don’t need anything from you.”

“Then...why would you help us?” Leon sounded dubious.

“Look, I don’t want anything, like I said. I’m not the one who needs help,” Merlin reminded him, “If you’d rather let your friend run around with a cracked skull, be my guest. What’s it to me?” 

“A cracked skull?” Gwaine asked in concern, sitting up straight. Merlin waved a hand dismissively. 

“An exaggeration. He does need help, though.”

Gwaine didn’t bother to ask how he knew. He suspected he wouldn’t understand the answer even if Merlin put it plainly. 

“Leon, bring him here,” he urged, “Why would Merlin save us all just to hurt Lance now?”

The older knight turned it over in his mind, weighing up their options. Eventually, he nodded. 

“I’ll have to convince Arthur.”

Gwaine made a face. “Good luck, mate.”

“Best get going, then,” Merlin dismissed Leon, who looked a bit spooked to be getting an implicit order from some strange sorcerer. 

“You’re alright, Gwaine?” Leon asked, frowning, with one foot out the door. Whatever he saw in Gwaine’s expression must have been enough, and with one last wary glance at Merlin’s back, he ducked back out into the woods.

\---

By the time Leon returned with the others, Gwaine was thoroughly relaxed. He had his feet up on the chair next to him, happily chatting away to Merlin, who proved to be a fascinating and unpredictable conversationalist. 

Their lively debate on whether or not toads were cute was interrupted when Leon and Arthur appeared in the doorway. They moved aside to usher Percival in, who had Lancelot slung over his shoulder. The tall knight nodded to them in greeting. With a gesture from Merlin, Percival crossed the room to lay Lancelot gently down on the little wooden bed in the corner. He did not stir. 

“The human body. So fragile,” Merlin tutted. He sat down next to Lancelot’s unmoving form, passing a hand over his forehead, muttering some low word they could not understand. Their friend’s head glowed gently for a moment, then faded. 

“All better!” Merlin declared happily, “Now, who’s hungry?”

In just a few moments, Gwaine had a warm bowl of stew in his hands. He hurriedly began to shovel it into his mouth.

“Is it to your liking?” Merlin asked half-mockingly, watching Gwaine scoff his food down.

“Mmm!” the man hummed in approval. 

Percival’s stomach growled longingly. He glanced over at Lancelot’s form and shrugged. If he could trust the sorcerer to heal his friend, he could eat his food. If his hospitality was just a ruse, why would he continue it now that he had them in his lair? As if sensing his decision, Merlin handed him a full bowl and spoon. Percival, who had not even introduced himself before having his prince saved by the sorcerer, chucking his friend on his bed and having his first meal of the day handed to him, smiled awkwardly in thanks. Merlin wordlessly handed another bowl of food to Leon, who took it mostly out of surprise. 

“Why isn’t Lancelot waking up?” Elyan asked, wondering what it meant that Merlin had offered everyone food but Arthur and himself. He noticed that Merlin ate only a little of his stew before setting it aside.

“He should rest. I’ll wake him in a bit,” Merlin said. From inside a cabinet, he hauled out a black cauldron. He set the pot with the stew on the table and replaced it over the fire with the cauldron. Gwaine looked to the door in anticipation, pleased to see the little bucket of water whizzing in again. 

“What are the Knights of Camelot doing in Emrys?” Merlin asked them suddenly. They looked at each other, none of them particularly wanting to answer.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Arthur said eventually. Merlin narrowed his eyes at him. Figuring that this would be a long conversation, Gwaine got up and refilled his bowl.

“This is my home. You’ll forgive me if I don’t want to see my neighbours burn at the stake.”

“We’re not here to hurt anyone,” Leon assured him hurriedly, “We were granted sanctuary.”

“You actually asked a magic spirit for protection?” Merlin asked disbelievingly, gathering a heap of strange ingredients and plants the knights had never seen before. 

“Not exactly. We didn’t know about this place, before, except one of us was raised by druids,” Percival explained. 

“Is that so? Which of you?”

“He’s not here at the moment,” Leon said diplomatically. 

“Wandered off, did he?” asked Merlin casually, his keen eyes far too knowing for Arthur’s liking. 

“No. He was cursed. Or enchanted,” Arthur asserted. Turning towards his workbench, Merlin pulled a number of jars off of the shelf and sprinkled some of their contents into the cauldron. The cabin began to fill with a subtle, sour scent. 

“How do you know that?”

“He became erratic, angry. Reckless. Nearly got us killed, then stormed off.”

The sorcerer did not visibly react from where he was standing with his back to them, apparently unmoved by the information. 

“It wasn’t like him. He started showing sympathies for magic,” the prince continued.

“And showing sympathies for magic is a key sign of a curse at work, is it?” the sorcerer asked dryly. Arthur bristled.

“You could lift the curse, couldn’t you?” Percival interrupted excitedly. 

“Yes,” Merlin shrugged.

“Unless he was the one that cast it,” Elyan mumbled to himself.

“Then you must help us,” Arthur declared. Merlin met his gaze easily, and Leon was absolutely horrified to find a very familiar spark of stubbornness in his eyes. He knew that look - he’d grown up seeing it on Arthur every time he did something stupid. 

_ This can’t end well, _ he thought mournfully, staring into his lovely warm stew. Leon began to eat quickly, determined that if he was to be turned into a frog, at least he wouldn’t be a hungry frog.

“I don’t  _ have _ to do anything.”

“But you said you could-”

“Yes, I can.”

“Fine. What do you want as payment, then?” Arthur snapped.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Then why won’t you do it?”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t, just that I don’t have to.”

Arthur growled in frustration. “Look, can you lift it or not?”

“Of course I can.”

“Do you even know what the curse is?” Elyan asked skeptically.

“No,” Merlin looked at him like he was crazy, or stupid, or both, “I can lift any curse.”

“Cocky, isn’t he?” Arthur sniffed. Merlin rolled his eyes.

“I defer to your expertise on that front.”

Arthur glared at Gwaine and Elyan for their quiet sniggers. 

“So lift it, then, and return him to us,” the prince ordered expectantly. Merlin graced him with an impossibly incredulous look. 

“No.”

“What? Why not?”

“He isn’t a  _ thing _ to be returned. Besides, he’s having a lovely time,” the sorcerer replied flippantly. His cauldron flashed with a loud pop of bright blue light, startling Elyan and Leon nearly out of their chairs. Merlin grinned at their expense.

“You mean you know where he is?” Percival asked urgently. Merlin nodded absently, stirring something into the cauldron. 

“And you didn’t think to mention that before?” Arthur demanded. His famous Pendragon temper was beginning to brew. The knights braced themselves.

“How was I to know you were looking for him?” Merlin answered nonchalantly. He brought a strange orange plant onto his chopping board and began to dice it, each incision releasing a strange but sweet odour. Elyan subtly shifted away. 

“How were you to-” Arthur spluttered indignantly, “He’s a knight of Camelot! Of course we were looking for him!”

“No, you were looking for animals to hunt,” Merlin frowned. Arthur, baffled, looked to his knights for support, but Leon shrugged. He had to hand that one to him. 

“Hungry,” Gwaine said cheerfully with his mouth full. Percival nodded in agreement.

“Hungry,” Merlin chuckled. Leon found himself smiling, too, though he turned his expression away from Arthur’s sight. 

“Alright, well, now you know,” Arthur said impatiently, “Show us where he is.”

“Not just yet. He’s learning so much.”

“Learning what?” the prince asked, alarmed, “Things to do with magic? Take us to him at once!”

“No,” Merlin said again, easily. 

“I command you!” Arthur demanded in his signature princely voice. 

Merlin paused in his chopping. 

The knights shrank as a dark look clouded the blue in his eyes. The knife in his hand suddenly seemed to Leon very, very sharp. The sorcerer turned his glare singularly toward their prince.

Arthur, used to getting his way when he said things like that, was a bit shocked at the almost-snarl on the sorcerer’s face. For a split second, he was a little scared, but he forced that feeling away. Merlin narrowed his eyes as if he could see through Arthur’s bravado. A cold gust swept through the cabin.

“You are no prince here, Arthur Pendragon.”

It seemed he was speaking with fifty voices, not just one - each voice unique and filled with menace. The very sky seemed to darken for just a moment, so quick the knights thought they might have imagined it. Then, quick as the storm clouds gathered, they dispersed. Merlin’s expression smoothed out as he returned to his chopping like he’d never stopped. The rhythmic sound filled the silence that had settled across them. Leon kept one wary eye on the knife, though he knew it was irrational. If Merlin was going to kill them, it wouldn’t be with something so mundane as a blade.

Gwaine let the silence simmer a bit, but eventually he couldn’t take it anymore, and went back to noisily eating his food. Privately, he thought it was a bit sexy when Merlin stood up to Arthur like that. If anything, the danger just added to his whole appeal.

Said prince was lost in thought, frowning down at his hands like the answers would simply appear in his grasp. He wasn’t used to people speaking back to him, especially not strangers with no rank. All of a sudden, here was this lanky, silly little sorcerer, speaking to him like  _ he _ was nobody, like  _ he _ was powerless. And perhaps, Arthur realised with a start, he was.

The knights watched as he seemed to come to some decision, and held their breath for the royal tantrum sure to follow.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. Gwaine choked on his stew. 

Merlin didn’t even look at him, but Arthur could tell that he was listening, interest sparking in the corners of his eyes. He swallowed the pride fighting to roar from his lips, though it clogged his throat. This was something he had to do. For Mordred. The other knights watched in shocked silence as Arthur gritted out the words like they hurt him. 

“You are not subject to my commands.”

“Even if I was, your pratness, your subjects are not slaves,” Merlin shot back, “You’d think one of your royal tutors would’ve taught you the meaning of the word ‘no’.”

“I-“ Arthur started to protest, puffing up defensively, before he remembered himself and bit back his retort. 

“Yes, well. You understand we’re simply concerned for our friend.”

“That is the first time you’ve called him ‘friend’ this whole time,” Merlin said at once, but with no particular inflection. It left Arthur wrong footed, unsure of what Merlin was insinuating. The sorcerer’s piercing gaze held the prince’s for a moment longer, then flicked back down to his mystery potion. Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“We’d appreciate it if you’d help us, please,” Leon requested politely, used to saving Arthur from awkward interactions, “We’d like to see him safe and sound of mind.”

“And what if I told you he was?” Merlin asked, not giving them time to answer before he began to bustle around the room, muttering to himself. He grabbed a bag and a pair of scissors, though notably not putting on any shoes. Sniffing thoughtfully over his cauldron, Merlin nodded to himself and dropped a handful of the orange plant into it. With a flash of gold, the fire vanished like it had never been there. The sorcerer took a ladle and poured the inky black concoction he’d brewed into a little bottle, which he promptly waved under Lancelot’s nose. The knight woke instantly, shooting up in Merlin’s little bed, eyes wide as he took in the scene around him. 

“Alright!” Merlin exclaimed, “We’ve got a curse to lift. Off we go.”

Striding out of the cabin without waiting, as he was wont to do, Merlin left a cabin of gobsmacked knights sitting behind him. Lancelot stared uncomprehendingly at their empty bowls.

“What in the bloody hell just happened?” Elyan asked nobody in particular. 

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” Lancelot said, bemused. Gwaine, finally finished with his third bowl of stew, ambled over to help the man to his feet. Lance tilted his head quizzically at Gwaine’s giddy grin.

“Seems we’ve got ourselves a sorcerer.”

\---

As they followed Merlin through the woods, each knight found himself taking note of something different. Leon, ever diligent and true, made sure to remember their pathing so they wouldn’t be lost if Merlin abandoned them. He saw the oddly shaped rocks none of the others did, the unfamiliar and remarkable plants brushing at their knees, the gnarled trunks of age-old trees. When they left Emrys, Leon would never forget the unique lay of the land.

Gwaine, of course, was wholly occupied with cataloguing everything about Merlin, and to his surprise, Lancelot seemed to be doing the same. The man seemed perfectly well after whatever Merlin had done, though Percival was keeping a close eye on him just in case.

“The animals,” Lancelot whispered to Gwaine, who nodded. He’d noticed it too. Merlin seemed to be collecting something of a parade. In the canopy above them, squirrels and birds hopped along the branches after him, clearly focused on the sorcerer, pausing when he paused and turning when he turned. 

Arthur, like Gwaine and Lancelot, was watching Merlin intently. But not with curiosity. With clear distrust. He watched the sorcerer with the ready tension of an opponent in battle, eyes tracking his every move. Arthur did not see the animals. 

“Why did he change his mind? About helping us with Mordred?” Elyan whispered to Leon. Leon wasn’t convinced that Merlin couldn’t hear them, but he answered anyway.

“I’m not sure. But I hope he doesn’t change it again.”

“And what do you think he meant about Mordred learning? You don’t think…”

“I don’t know,” Leon replied gravely. 

They came to an open field full of bright wildflowers. Merlin stopped at the edge and turned to them, his entourage of woodland creatures halting above his head. 

“Find me the chrysalis of the dealan-dhe,” Merlin ordered the knights. 

“Why don’t you find it yourself?” grumbled Arthur. The sorcerer shot him a pointed look.

“Do you want the curse broken or not?”

“What’s a dealan-dhe?” Lancelot asked, interrupting any further complaints from Arthur. Merlin smiled serenely.

“The spirit of a dead child.” 

“Er...we don’t have to kill a child for that, do we?” Elyan asked skeptically. Merlin laughed, but didn’t answer. Leon and Elyan shared a nervous look, but they were pretty sure he was joking...wasn’t he?

“Charming,” Arthur muttered. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine started hesitantly, “What exactly is your plan? Are you making another potion…?”

Merlin thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I think I am.” 

His eyes flashed, and a rabbit hopped out of the undergrowth and out into the field. As it disturbed the tall grass, Lancelot saw something rising up into the air. Or somethings, rather. They were white, glowing and glittering unnaturally in the waning sunlight. The rabbit disturbed more and more of them until the field was practically shining. 

“Butterflies,” Percival realised with a little smile, “It’s the chrysalis of a butterfly.”

The butterflies seemed to fly in patterns, creating elaborate swirls and loops in the air. The more of the little creatures emerged, the clearer it became that they really  _ were  _ glowing, bright and pure white. The men all caught their breath. It was unlike anything they had ever seen before. Percival thought that perhaps they were fallen stars. 

_ Magic butterflies, _ Arthur thought darkly, disliking the situation immediately. 

“Are they really the souls of dead children?” Gwaine asked, eyes alight with curiosity, following as Merlin stepped out into the field.They tread carefully, looking for a chrysalis on the stalks of plants. Percival watched the animation on Gwaine’s face, and felt the last dregs of his unease with Merlin fade away. He’d saved them, healed Lancelot, welcomed them into his home, fed them, yes, but all that aside, how could he be evil if he made Gwaine smile like that?

Lancelot elbowed him, raising an eyebrow knowingly. Percival elbowed him back, scowling. They exchanged a look and followed Gwaine into the field, both wanting to get a closer look at the magical creatures. 

“Alright. Spread out, and look for a chrysalis. But be careful,” Arthur said lowly to the men who remained by his side.

“How dangerous could a butterfly be?” Elyan asked bluntly. Leon shrugged, and they ventured out together.

Left standing alone at the edge of the field, Arthur glared at Merlin suspiciously. The butterflies fluttered around the sorcerer delicately, one clumsily landing on his ear. Merlin smiled at the ticklish sensation, eyes crinkling at the corners. Gwaine laughed at him as more and more butterflies began to settle on his clothes and hair like he was a great flower. Even Leon and Elyan seemed taken with the creatures, watching them with wonder in their eyes. The butterflies drifted gently, wings sparkling like sunlight on the water; Arthur had to admit that they were rather beautiful. But he wouldn’t be fooled by Merlin’s ruse - whatever he was up to, Arthur would see through it. Nothing was as it seemed. Not with magic. 


End file.
